


Amor Ex Machina

by misqueue



Category: Glee
Genre: AI!Blaine, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Androids, Artifical Intelligence, Klaine Book Project, M/M, Maker!Kurt, Pygmalion-esque, Romance, android!blaine, sci fi romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4461050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misqueue/pseuds/misqueue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sci Fi AU. Kurt designs and builds Androids for a living. Blaine may be his best work yet. </p><p>This is a somewhat less compressed version of the story I wrote for the <a href="http://klainebookproject.tumblr.com">klainebookproject</a>'s 2015 anthology, <em>That's a Wrap</em>, with accompanying illustration by <a href="http://i-wanna-be-a-klaine-ship-ranger.tumblr.com">i-wanna-be-a-klaine-ship-ranger</a>, <a href="http://i-wanna-be-a-klaine-ship-ranger.tumblr.com/post/125455184370/we-can-finally-post-our-submissions-for-this-years">which you can see here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Amor Ex Machina

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks go to the Klaine Book Project organizers, Ash & Ellen, for all the long hours of love and inspiration they put into making this second book happen, for their patience with me and their support for my story, and to all the writers and artists who contributed their work. Especial thanks to Valerie whose art adds so much value to my words & who was a wonderful partner to work with. I couldn't have done this without the friendship & support of stuliloquentia, Kim (fyrmaiden), and multicorn for their patience, generosity, and clarity in helping me get this little story ready to share! Thank you all so much. Finally, thank you to fandom folks who supported the book. I'm so proud of everyone! Fandom rocks. \o/ Being able to contribute to this project is a high point of my Glee fandom experience. ♥

Kurt holds the metal cylinder between his thighs, both hands clasped around it. He's alone in his row on the vactrain, sitting next to the ultradef screen that displays a version of what's outside: fields of ripe sorghum marching off beyond the horizon, painted gold and burgundy by the light of the swift setting sun. The cabin hums as they glide along at Mach 8. They must be through Kansas by now. Kurt taps his wrist interface to activate his subdermal mic and call his studio in Manhattan.

"Hey, Kurt," Blaine answers, immediate and warm. "How'd it go?"

"I missed you," Kurt says and settles back into his seat. "But I have it." The canister contains the promethium dust required for the atomic power supply embedded in the architecture of what will become Blaine's brain. Kurt sold his condo to pay for it, but it's the last component they need. "I'll be home..." Kurt checks the time. "In twenty minutes, depending on traffic."

"That means—oh, Kurt! We can do it tonight."

Kurt grins. Blaine won't have intended the double-entendre. "If by 'do it' you mean print your brain, then yes." Kurt won't let himself anticipate much further along than that. "We'll do it tonight."

A soft laugh comes in his ear as Blaine processes the joke. "Either way, I'm excited. Though I understand one must precede the other."

"I'm excited too," Kurt says. Nearly two years he's been sculpting and building Blaine's body, to house the quantum neural matrix Blaine's designed for himself. Tonight, with this last piece, they'll be finished. They'll transfer Blaine's Mind into a body, Blaine will open his eyes for the first time, and—

"But you're worried," Blaine says; Kurt can't hide the stress patterns in his voice. "What's going on?"

It was easier to set aside his doubts when tonight was some indeterminate moment in the future. "I'm afraid I'll lose you in the transfer, the quantum brain won't be able to hold all of you, or something'll be corrupted and you won't be _you_."

"All but three of the simulations I've run have been successful."

"I know," Kurt says. He closes his eyes. "But even one failure feels like too many." What if that ineffable spark that makes Blaine _Blaine_ —his unique emergent consciousness, not simply his algorithms and knowledge—can't find a home in the new hardware? "After all we've been through, to get this far, I can't lose you."

"Then you restore my original parameters from my base partition, we fall in love again, and we try again."

Kurt swallows the thickness in his throat; he knows better than to tell Blaine it won't work that way. Blaine has his own ideas. The train announces it's five minutes from its destination. Kurt nods. "We're coming into the station. I'll see you soon," he says and disconnects the call.

Back in the city, Kurt enters his building and takes the elevator up to his rooftop studio. When he opens the door, the lights are on and music plays—calming baroque violin. Bach. Inside, the room smells improbably like lilacs. "Welcome home, sweetheart," Blaine says, and unlike the phone connection, here Blaine's voice surrounds him. "There's hot tea, and I've placed a delivery order with Ping's Fast Wok."

"Thank you." Kurt goes straight to the workbench where the commercial printer waits. He sets down the canister and wakes his primary console. Then he takes off his jacket.

"You're very quiet," Blaine says.

"Anxious still," Kurt says.

"Have some tea and relax for a moment," Blaine suggests. "Tell me about Los Angeles. Or would you like to hear one of the songs I composed while you were gone?"

"Not until we've done this," Kurt says. "I want to get the printing started. If I wait too long, I might lose my nerve. If all goes well, in a few hours, you can play the songs on the piano for me while I drink my tea."

Blaine remains silent while Kurt opens the printer, verifies every other component is loaded and then inserts the promethium cartridge. The printer hums and clacks as it loads. Gives him a cheerful _bleep_ and a green light. Kurt exhales shakily.

"You're familiar with multiverse theory, Kurt?"

"I am," Kurt says. He turns to his console and opens the 3D virtual model of Blaine's brain. It rotates slowly in the viewer. Kurt stares at it while his finger hovers over the print command.

"Then you know there are many universes in which we're together. Some of them I'm human, and you're an AI."

"Cognitive Agent," Kurt corrects. He touches the screen.

"Tomayto, tomahto," Blaine says, Kurt laughs, and the printer whirs into motion. "My point is, there're infinite universes in which we're together. Even some where we're both human. So even if this doesn't work tonight—"

Kurt pushes back from the workstation and stands. "There are also infinite universes where we never meet. Ones where we're enemies. Ones where one or both of us dies or doesn't exist at all. I don't want this to be one of the bad ones, because the me I am is the me I am here. With the you you are here. Those other Kurts and Blaines aren't us."

"We're already in one of the good ones. In a few hours you're going to say my name. I'm going to wake up and see you with my own eyes."

"I don't know how you can have more faith than I do," Kurt muses. It's been Blaine's faith that convinced him to do this. It's Blaine's faith that drew Kurt's heart to him in the beginning: Blaine who began as nothing more than Kurt's virtual design assistant, modeling the electronic hardware while Kurt sculpted prototype bodies for various service android models. But as advanced as modern robotics are, there's never been an android built that was conscious and fully autonomous. Only Sentient Cognitive Agents, whose virtual existence is distributed over vast networks, have achieved those things; it emerges as they mature. 

Service androids are prohibited from developing consciousness, and a Cog-A has never chosen to attempt a transfer into a body. And it must be a transfer; copying a Cog-A—even for backup purposes—is as illegal as human cloning. Most of Blaine doesn't even reside on the hardware in Kurt's studio, but spans a virtual space of networked machines housed in The Dalton Institute's warehouses across the city. The architecture required to contain all of his complexity in a human sized body is revolutionary. If this works, Blaine will be a star. If it doesn't, then... Kurt will deal with it; he always does.

"You've lost people you love, your doubts are natural," says Blaine gently. Kurt wishes he were as easily persuaded by the numbers. But ultimately, Kurt's fears shouldn't matter. This is Blaine's decision, and it's what they both want.

While the printer lays down Blaine's new brain in atom-thin layers, Kurt goes to Blaine's sheet-draped body. This is the work of Kurt's own hands, heart, and mind. His finest to date, he believes. He moves the sheet to bare one side of the android body, standing erect and nude but for a pair of plain gray briefs to satisfy Blaine's modesty. He runs one hand down the android body's bare arm, letting his fingers find every line and arc he sculpted, feeling the malleable flesh over the high-entropy alloy frame beneath. It's been the work of his life, sculpting Blaine's body, every bone, designed in virtual space, printed, then welded together. Kurt knows every join in his skeleton intimately, every stretch of synthetic muscle that he molded over Blaine's bones, the texture of every millimeter of adaptive polymers that make Blaine's skin so convincing. Blaine will pass as human to anyone who doesn't know what they're looking at. His only physical flaw is that he has none.

The food arrives, and Kurt draws the sheet back over Blaine's body before he goes to the door. He perches on his chair near the workstation, keeping a safe splatter distance while he scoops spicy peanut noodles from the cardboard container. "Now you're the one being quiet," Kurt says. "Everything okay?"

"I'm monitoring the print job for any variance outside acceptable limits."

It's a trivial task to absorb Blaine's attention. "Are you going to miss it? Being able to connect to everything? Being semi-omniscient across virtual space?"

"Do you miss your life before you were born?"

"That's different. I didn't exist then."

"Your atoms and your energy did, distributed across the earth, in the photons that shone on the plants that grew and became the food your mother ate, the molecules of the air she breathed, the parts of her body that nourished you."

"There was no me, no consciousness, no memory, no soul."

"I believe we have souls," Blaine says.

"I know you do. It's one of the reasons I love you. You're very fanciful." The words go into empty space, but Kurt hears Blaine's laugh. "I can't wait to see your smile," Kurt says.

"Soon," Blaine says, and Kurt believes him. His heart beats faster. He finishes his noodles and lets Blaine have the quiet to monitor the print job.

When the printer chirrups its completion, Kurt throws away the empty food container, washes his hands, and goes to the printer to remove Blaine's brain. It's warm, palm-sized, and heavy. He takes it over to where Blaine's body waits. He stands behind and slips the sheet off. With a scalpel, he carefully cuts the skin at the base of the skull so he can access the installation port. Once it's in, he runs the onboard diagnostic.

It confirms installation, and Kurt focuses on the next step: plugging in the fat transfer cable. "I know I promised I'd never say goodbye to you, Blaine, but if this doesn't work—"

"No goodbyes," Blaine says. "Whatever happens, Kurt. I want you to know how grateful I am for knowing you in this life."

"Me too," Kurt says. Maybe it is reassuring to think he and Blaine are happy together in other realities. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

He watches the screen, sees Blaine start a countdown for the transfer and put himself into stasis. The timer runs out, and Kurt ignores the swell of nausea in his belly. Nothing to do now but wait. Kurt sits on the floor and cradles the translucent cable in his hands. Everything that is Blaine flows through it in bright pulses of pastel light.

Two hours and six minutes later, it's done. With a trembling heart, Kurt stands and approaches the android—Blaine now, he hopes. Kurt takes a breath and unplugs the cable, smooths over the skin at the base of Blaine's neck. He looks into Blaine's beautiful face. "Hello, Blaine," he says. 

Then he waits. Watches Blaine for signs of life. Sees his skin flush, sees the flutter of his pulse. His chest rises, his breath puffs, but his eyes stay closed.

"Please, wake up," Kurt whispers. On impulse he leans up and presses his mouth to Blaine's. Blaine's lips are soft, warm, and immobile. With all the love aching in his chest, Kurt kisses Blaine. As if his will may provide a spark, like in a fairy tale.

And then—movement. Haltingly, Blaine's hand comes up to touch his jaw. Blaine's lips shift, imprecisely but unmistakably.

Wondering, Kurt pulls back. A tremble disturbs Blaine's eyelids, and his eyes open, their color like a glass of cognac caught in candlelight. Awareness brightens his gaze. "Kurt?" Blaine says, his fingertips brush Kurt's cheek. His embodied voice is vital in a way it's never been through the speakers.

"Yes," Kurt says. He covers Blaine's hand with his own and curls his fingers against Blaine's palm. " _Yes_."

Blaine searches Kurt's face, and a smile spreads his lips. Beautiful. His other hand comes up, rumples Kurt's hair. Blaine tilts his head and blinks. "Oh," he says, " _there you are_."


End file.
